


Thumpity-Thump-Thump

by Bitsy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Car Accident, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-28
Updated: 2012-12-12
Packaged: 2017-11-19 18:44:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bitsy/pseuds/Bitsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has the song Frosty The Snowman stuck in his head.  Which is ironic, since he and Derek are hunting an ice elemental.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My very first Teen Wolf piece. This fandom has taken over.

"Thumpity-Thump Thump! Thumpity-Thump Thump! Look at Frosty goooooo~!"

"Would you. Shut. Up?"

"Oh my god, come on dude! Really? You're gonna get all Sourwolf at me for singing _Christmas carols?_ You aren't Sourwolf, you're Scrooge. Today you're Scrooge, I've decided."

Derek Hale snarled, his throat vibrating with the noise, and his lip curling up. As always, he and Stiles ended up alone together. As always, Stiles was playing chauffeur in his sky blue jeep. As always, Derek was giving serious thought to discovering what Stiles would look like with his vocal cords tied up in a knot. He didn't know if he could actually tie vocal cords in a knot, but he'd be willing to try anything once. This obsession with Frosty the Snowman was riding his very last nerve. He'd been down to his very last nerve for at least seven months, because Stiles had whittled away at it relentlessly.

"You've been singing it. Non-stop. For the last five miles. Just that line. Over and over. That's not a Christmas carol."

"Do you ever actually put together complete sentences?" Stiles asked, a knowing smirk on his face. "You do know full stops and periods are supposed to come at the end of a thought, right? If we wrote you down the same way you talked, you'd be known as Sourwolf, Captain of the Sentence Fragments."

Silence. Long, stony silence as Derek ground his teeth together and tried to remember how to do a clove hitch.

"Thumpity-Thump Thump! Thumpity-Thump Thump...!"

Why? Why was this happening to him? Why was he stuck with a sixteen year old - no, wait, he was seventeen now - seventeen year old walking sound board? Those little things where you push a button and it chatters at you, saying the same obnoxious phrases over and over. That was Stiles. 

"Turn here," Derek snarled, his forehead against the cold pane of the window. It was the only thing helping with his headache. He watched passively as Stiles turned the jeep onto a barely-visible dirt road. It was really just two tire tracks through a bed of frost-bitten dead leaves, winding them deeper into the forests of Beacon Hill. Derek had found the road after a long night's hunt, and saw that it would require a four by four to get through the frozen mud further down the end. And who did he know that owned a four-by-four? The boy with the knottable vocal cords. Stiles. And so here they were, headed into another supernatural oddity because Stiles owned a jeep. Today was just tracking. Tonight would come the hunt, with the full pack. How they'd all fit into the jeep, Derek wasn't sure yet, but he'd figure it out.

"Thumpity-thump thump..."

The jeep bounced its way over the frozen ruts in the road, and the frost became heavier and heavier the further they got into the woods. Until suddenly...

The jeep screeched to a stop, and Stiles stared open-mouthed at the ground around them, and the scrubby juniper trees. More specifically, he was staring at the white stuff that was dusting everything.

"Is that snow?" he asked incredulously.

"Yeah."

"Here?"

"Yeah."

"It never snows in Beacon Hills," he said, waving his hands around like it would make all the snow vanish. "Well, maybe once or twice a couple of hundred years ago but...it _never_ snows in Beacon Hills!"

Derek just turned to Stiles with a flat, incredulous look on his face.

"Yeah. Remember the whole 'supernatural' element of this?"

"...So, what, we're gonna fight Jack Frost and all his little icicles? I'm not wearing my long johns, I can't handle this, I'm a California boy, we don't do snow here."

"Shut up and drive."

The jeep started trundling down the track again, only this time a little slower. The further they went, the deeper the snow got, until the road disappeared completely under it. Stiles turned to Derek with a question mark on his face and a quip on his lips, when Derek growled and pointed further up the hill. That way. Reluctantly, Stiles kept going, but he already knew this was a mistake. He could feel the wheels begin to slip on ice and pressed powder, and a curious whining noise was escaping the engine. He hit the brakes, and that was just the wrong move. They began to skid, hard to the side, and the jeep lost traction completely. They were now sideways on the road, and slipping down the hill fast. Overbalanced. Stiles yelped and jerked the wheel hard to the side, trying to bring them around the right way, but over-corrected.

"Careful!" barked Derek, leaning over to grab the wheel and get back under control. But it was too late, the jeep's tires had lost traction, and it was spinning back down the hill. 

"SHIT!" yelled Stiles, still trying to get things back under control. There was a moment where it seemed like everything was going to be okay...and then the world shifted around, upside down and right side up. The jeep was going into a rollover. Derek braced himself, and without thought reached over to brace Stiles as well. Six times, maybe seven, the jeep caromed down the hill, glass shattering, the body barely holding together. Then came the sickening crunch of sheet metal meeting a solid object. A tree, they'd crashed into a tree. But at least they were the right side up.

Groaning, Derek tried to pull himself together, the cuts on his face from flying glass already healing.

"Stiles?"

Silence.

_"STILES?"_

"T-Thumpity-thump thump," groaned the boy weakly, and Derek let out a relieved breath. In that moment of silence, his heart had stopped beating, because he was afraid Stiles was badly hurt.

"M-Man, they sure knew wh-what they were doing, these seat belt manufacturers. Can't get this kind of p-performance out of a Kia. Fuck, my ankle!"

"Shut up."

He was inspecting the boy for damage, his eyes raking over every inch of him. Yes, he had a few cuts across his face and hands where the glass had gotten him. And there was a bruise forming on his chin where it had hit the steering wheel. But he looked under the console at the boy's legs. Intact, everything at the proper angle, even his ankle he was complaining about. But tears were dripping down the boy's face already, the pain of it overwhelming.

"Can you move your head?" he asked quietly, and Stiles answered with a small, whimpery nod. "What hurts?"

"Everything? My ankle a lot. But mainly my poor car."

"Why did you over-correct like that?!"

"Remember the part where I said it never snows here?"

Derek grunted in understanding, and reached over to touch the boy. He caressed his face with a surprisingly gentle hand, and several black threads started winding their way up his arm. Stiles sighed in relief as the pain was leeched away, and tilted his head into Derek's hand. Most of it, anyway. There was a big knot of bright pain down by Stiles' left ankle, and Derek growled when he felt it. That felt like a break. Stiles blinked as he felt Derek back off from it, but then he smiled knowingly. Derek rolled his eyes, and set to getting rid of that pain, too.

"You do this the best," Stiles murmured. "Isaac is great, but your healing is so much better..."

Derek didn't know how to answer that, so he didn't. The cold wind was whistling in through the broken windows, with just enough jagged shards around the edges to prevent them getting out that way. Although Derek was fairly certain he could punch them out...but if Stiles really did have a broken ankle, they weren't going anywhere. He pulled out his cell phone, to discover that his bars had abandoned him. They were too deep in the forest to have coverage. Great.

"Derek? W-What are we hunting up h-here, really?"

Stiles was already shivering with the cold, his teeth chattering as he hugged himself to preserve his body heat. 

"...Your guess of Jack Frost wasn't too far off," the werewolf conceded. "Ice elemental."

"Oh, shit. You br-brought me to fight snow?"

"I brought your _jeep_ to discover where the elemental's lair was."

"You brought me to fight s-snow. Not exactly an A-Plus plan there, Scrooge. God it's cold, my b-balls are up in my lung cavity."

"It's not that cold."

"It's Antarctica in here. My poor jeep! It's permanently air-conditioned now. You better help m-me pay for body damage, Hale." Stiles shifted in his seat, just enough, and then he screamed in agony. He'd moved his ankle. That scream set off something in Derek Hale's chest, and he was growling in shared pain with him, reaching over to suck the injury away.

"Don't move!" he said uselessly, and Stiles just whimpered again.

"Fuck you, it hurts!"

"Shh..."

Stiles was about to protest, when Derek slapped a hand over his non-stop motor mouth. 

"Be. Quiet," he growled, his voice now barely above a whisper. "I don't want to have to fight a pissed-off ice elemental alone because you couldn't shut up. You're gonna lure it right here, you keep up the screaming. Get it?"

Stiles eventually nodded, and settled back down into his seat.

"Now what?" he whispered, wiping the tears off his cheeks, glancing over at Derek. "I can't walk. Look, you should go for help. I'll be fine."

"Like hell." The werewolf narrowed his eyes at him, and shook his head. He wasn't leaving, not now. It was too cold, and there was a _thing_ out there. He wasn't leaving Stiles alone, not now. This was his moment, holding Stiles up in a pool. Or something. It made sense to him in his werewolf brain. 

"It's cold...."

There was a long, long silence, and then Derek was unbuckling his seat belt, and pushing his seat back. Very carefully, _very_ carefully, he did the same for Stiles.

"Put your weight on your right leg," he warned. "Keep your left leg as still as you can. I'm going to splint it, but you have to get here first. Okay?"

Stiles gasped a bit, taking a steeling breath to brace himself. Physics was not on his side for this one; to get from the driver's side to the passenger's side, the most efficient way to push would have been with his left leg. But he managed it, going very slowly, hissing in pain the whole time he went. Once, he brushed the ankle against his seat, and he yelped in pain again, slapping a hand over his own mouth to keep the screaming down. Derek winced in sympathy, and took that pain as well. Finally, he was over the center console, and his hand slipped. He fell face-down onto Derek's chest, his left leg still trapped under the steering wheel.

"C-Can you reach from here?" asked Stiles, his voice cracking with cold and pain.

"...Yeah. Hold still. And bite down on something, this is gonna hurt."

Of course, all that Stiles could reach was the lapel of Derek's leather jacket. So he did, as the wolf gripped his foot and calf, and _pulled._ He had to reset the bone, or it would heal wrong. Stiles screamed around a mouthful of leather, tears leaking down his face again. Then Derek was reaching out the shattered window, grabbing handfuls of snow and packing them around Stiles' ankle.

"Almost done...sing that stupid song again."

"T-Thought you wanted me to be quiet."

"Do it quietly."

"Th-Thumpity-thump thump...thumpity-th-thump th-..."

Stiles let out another shrill squeal of pain, biting down on the leather as Derek grabbed the tire iron from the back of the jeep, and some bungee cord as well. It was a shitty splint, but it would do until they got out of here. Stiles started whispering the lyrics to Frosty the Snowman again, this time actually getting further into the song. Derek smirked.

"And here I thought you only knew that one line."

"I hate you," groaned Stiles through his teeth. "I thought I hated you before, but I really hate you now."

"Feeling's mutual, Stilinski."

But the way they were clinging to each other belied that, and the way Derek's hands were working belied that. There was no hate here, not right now. Finally, the grisly work was done, and Stiles was left a pale and sweaty and panting mess on top of Derek's chest. The world was cold and frightening and painful right now, but Derek was there, keeping him warm and easing his hurt. Eventually, Stiles let go of his death grip on Derek's jacket, his teeth and jaw aching.

"It's not a hamburger, you know. No matter how much you drool on it, it won't turn back into a cow."

"Shut up."

"Isn't that my line?"

The two boys lay there together, arms wrapped around each other for warmth, as Stiles slowly calmed back down. Derek was really worried about him, now, truly wondering how the hell they were gonna get out of this one. He could carry him, yes. But then the elemental would pounce. He just hoped one of his pack noticed their Alpha was missing and set up a search, follow his scent.

"Derek?"

"Yeah?"

"You're really warm. Like, uncomfortably so."

"You said you were cold."

"I was. Now I'm wondering how to take off layers."

Derek snorted at that, which sounded suspiciously like laughter. Stiles grinned back, and cuddled up closer, in spite of the heat the werewolf was putting out. Handy, though. He'd freeze without it. But...there was more to this than just survival warmth, and Stiles wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Even if the gift horse came with a broken ankle and multiple contusions. Stiles wondered if he was going into shock, because he was thinking that Derek sure did have a nice scent. Musky and masculine and a little bit wild. He and Derek had been dancing around each other for months now, and Stiles had to admit that he loved pushing the wolf's buttons. Hence the singing of Frosty the Snowman incessantly. He liked watching Derek's jaw clench and ripple when he was annoyed. And Stiles was the king of annoying, so it happened often.

"Stiles?"

"Yeah?"

"...Why do you always agree to help me?"

The question caught the boy flat-footed, and he looked up with a frown.

"You always ask," he pointed out, confused by the question. "And I can't say no to my Alpha." That brought a bright grin out, in spite of the pain, and Derek snorted.

"I'm not your Alpha."

And that felt like a slap to the face, and hurt more than his ankle. He bit the inside of his cheek, breaking the skin with his molars, and then looked away. He'd been rejected a lot during his relatively short life, but this one cut the deepest. What did you expect, Stilinski? The hot wolf just deciding, hey, let's get ourselves a little human chew toy? Not likely. And even if he did, it wouldn't be you.

"Oh. Right. Wolves only club, stupid human not allowed." Stiles' voice was bitter and hurt, until Derek cut across him.

"...Yet."

"...Yet? Yet? What's that mean, yet? What the hell are you talking about, _yet?!_ "

"I mean I'm not your Alpha yet."

There was a long silence, as Derek finally looked up, confusion and pain clear on his features.

"...Okay, I'm confused. Is this a wolf thing?"

"Yeah."

"It's always a fucking wolf thing. I'm getting sick of this wolf thing. Can't we just do this the boring normal human way for once? And not worry about who's in charge or who's the Alpha, or who's got first crack at dinner..."

But then Stiles noticed that Derek was rubbing his hands, his warm, broad hands, up and down his back. And he trembled to a stop, his mouth shutting down in surprise. Derek actually did chuckle at that, still exploring Stiles with his hands.

"So that's how to do that."

"Do w-what?"

"Shut you up."

"Yeah well, being touched all over by a ridiculously hot werewolf while sporting a broken ankle in my smashed up jeep will...oh my god."

Because Derek's hands had suddenly stopped, and he lifted his face up, tilting his head to the side like a curious dog. Stiles' brain caught up with his mouth and he blushed bright red, his face now lit up with embarrassment.

"Did you just say I was ridiculously hot?"

"No. No. I didn't say that. No. Why would you think I said that? I never said it. Not true. No. You're hallucinating, the ice elemental is messing with your perceptions, you should go see Deaton after, he'll fix you up..."

Derek put his hand lightly over Stiles' mouth again, and glanced around. He'd heard a branch creak in the distance, and wasn't sure if it was snow settling, or something more menacing approaching. That was the problem with elementals, they had no scent. He couldn't smell the thing out there, only hear it. And if the thing didn't walk...

"Shut. Up. Now."

Stiles did as he was told, his eyes wide with embarrassment and a healthy dollop of fear. Thumpity-thump-thump went his heart, distracting Derek for a moment, trying to strain his senses to the limit to make sure. All he could hear was the settling of snow, and Stiles' loud heart beat, a deer walking across the frost about a mile away.

That was when the thing attacked.

A roar echoed through the forest as the ice elemental slammed itself into the already wrecked jeep, with a sound like a glacier cracking into pieces. Derek snarled his defiance, and pushed Stiles out of the way. The boy groaned in pain and shock as the werewolf shifted, exploding out of the jeep's cracked windshield like a demon out of hell. And then it all was happening too fast for Stiles to follow. The ice elemental didn't have much of a shape. It was jagged all around, and glittering like a pile of fresh snow under the sun. Little shards of rainbows danced around Derek's body as the fight started in earnest. The wolf tried to get the thing in its jaws, but there was nothing to bite at. It was like fighting a breeze, or stream, or a blizzard. There was nothing to _get._ Nothing to grab on to, or if you did get some small part of it, the rest flowed right around you, overwhelming and legion. The only thing that saved Derek's life was the fact that he was _faster._ Faster than the elemental, able to dart away in his full wolf form, his fur on end, his ears flat back on his skull. There was no blood, but Derek's fur was turning white at the tips, and his nose was already starting to crack. This sort of intense cold, and the effects it had, couldn't be healed.

Stiles didn't know where the inspiration came from. But he knew what he had to do. In the back of his jeep was an emergency kit, complete with...

He grabbed a red tube, about six inches long, out of the bag, thanking his father silently again and again for this. He'd hated this birthday gift at the time, but now...it was going to save his life, and Derek's. He scrambled through the broken front windshield, scraping his jeans on the shattered glass, his broken ankle protesting the whole way. It wasn't as bad as before, it had settled into a dull throb, but the second he put weight on it he screamed again. That was unfortunate, because it caught the elemental's attention, and it spun away from Derek to face down Stiles.

The wolf howled in annoyance, in distress, as Stiles stared into the blue, glowing, glittering eyes of the thing. It was just a split second, enough to make Stiles hold his breath and freeze.

Look at Frosty go...

The thing moved toward the vulnerable human, intent on turning it into a Stiles-sicle. The boy flinched backwards, ending up with his butt through the gaping hole in the front of his windshield, and he pulled the cap hard on the roadside flare in his hand. A spray of red sparks caught the elemental full in the face, and it _screamed._ Actually screamed in pain, in agony, as the red fire shattered the blue ice. The elemental broke apart wherever the sparks landed, and soon all that was left was a rather sad, pathetic looking pixie thing. A very wounded pixie thing with bright blue eyes, and sharp shoulders, and a physical neck. Just the thing for an angry werewolf to take in its jaws and shake around like a rag doll...

A snap, a whimper, and then silence.

Derek tossed what remained of the elemental aside, unthinkingly, and made his way over to Stiles. His breath was steaming on the cold air, as he jumped easily up on the hood of the jeep, and sniffed all around the injured boy. With a shaky hand, Stiles reached up and ruffled Derek's ears.

"Good boy," he whispered, which got him a growl and a flash of angry red eyes. Stiles rolled his own. "Oh, come on, I just saved your ass again. Don't give me that, I'm allowed to call you a good boy if I want."

Another growl, and the wolf got right in Stiles' face.

"You d-don't scare me, Hale."

A pause...and then Derek licked his face. His tongue was hot, and wet, and soft, and surprisingly sensual. Stiles groaned, half in disgust, half in need.

"Damn it! Gross! Why are you licking me? Stop it." He shoved Derek's snout away with his hand, dropping the flare as he did. Derek snorted, and sniffed Stiles' hand again, and he sneezed. "What? You don't like the smell of fireworks? You're no fun. And you're naked now, too. Why is it that werewolves always manage to lose their clothes? I can't help you pick them up, I have a broken ankle."

The wolf snorted again, this time with what sounded like laughter, as he bounded away to gather up his clothes. His jeans were shredded, but his leather jacket was intact, of course. So as he deposited the clothes on Stiles' lap, he started pulling on his t-shirt to pull him out of the windshield. Groaning, Stiles let himself be pulled, and soon enough he was free. Of course, Derek chose that moment to shift back to human. All six feet of him, naked and sexy, and Stiles averted his eyes, tossing the jacket at him hard.

"Shit! Hale! Put some clothes on, Jesus Christ!"

"I thought you said I was ridiculously hot?"

"You are! That's the problem!"

"Get back in the car."

Wriggling in legs first, Stiles slipped through the broken windshield one last time, and ended up in the passenger's seat. Derek managed to force the door open after that, and curled in next to him again, pulling Stiles back into his lap. Without pants on. Stiles flinched away, but then eased into it, his arms pinned at his side by Derek's.

"The pack'll notice we're missing, and come looking. We killed the ice elemental. We're fine. Now shut up and relax."

"Hard to do. You're mostly naked. When I said I wanted to remove layers, this isn't what I meant."

More chuckling, and Stiles belatedly noticed that Derek Hale was actually laughing. Laughing with him. Or at him. So he decided to push those buttons just a little bit more.

"Santa? For Christmas I want a new X-Box, and a copy of Assassin's Creed Three, and..."

"Shut up."

"I'm on your lap, you're naked, it's almost Christmas, you're Santa now."

"Shut up."

"And I want a ridiculously hot wolf to say he's my Alpha."

Silence. A long, uncomfortable silence while Derek mulled that over. And then he was sniffing at Stiles' neck, a little smirk on his face. For once, the boy didn't say anything, he just let it happen. For so long, they'd been needling each other, snarling at each other, barely saving each other. Over and over, they'd gotten into trouble together, and over and over they'd gotten out. A proper team, a proper part of the pack, and only Derek's stubbornness kept it from being official. Stiles went still as Derek squeezed him tighter, his leather jacket creaking comfortingly.

"I'm not your Alpha yet."

Stiles actually whined at that, the noise curling out of his throat and making his face curl up in distress.

"Why _not?!_ " he whimpered, turning around just enough in Derek's arms. "Don't you see I want you to be? Don't you understand that? That I want to be a part of your pack, of your family? That Scott's my best friend? That your pack is pretty much the center of my existence now? That I've literally risked life and limb for you? Hello, broken ankle, broken jeep? And you still won't let me in?!"

"You're not in," was the low answer, Derek's voice a warning rumble, "because you keep referring to it as my pack. Like it's separate from you. That's not how it works. You're pack...when it's so much a part of you you don't even notice."

That shocked Stiles to stillness again, as he realized that his own words had betrayed him. Your pack, your family, not my pack, my family. Derek hugged him tighter around the waist, and went back to sniffing at his neck.

"You're almost there, Stiles. But I'm not your Alpha yet."

"...But you will be someday, right?"

"I wouldn't be scent marking you if I wasn't. Now shut up and stay warm."

"...Yes, Derek."

There was a long, still moment. The two boys were curled up tighter than a puppy pile together, Stiles' ankle thumping and throbbing softly against his splint. He'd need to get to the doctor soon, hopefully the pack...his pack. Hopefully his pack would find them soon. But not too soon. He was enjoying this quiet time with his half-naked werewolf almost Alpha.

"Hey, Derek?"

"What?"

"How do you feel about guys?" That was a very, very bold question, and Stiles felt his heart thumpity-thumping against his ribcage. Derek just snorted, as if that was the stupidest question of all.

"Would I be sitting here cuddling you without pants on if I didn't like guys?"

"Oh."

Another long moment of silence, that loud heartbeat the only thing Derek could hear.

"Hey, Derek?"

"What?"

"How do you feel about me?"

"You're annoying as shit."

"Oh. Um."

"But you're also the only person who's begged me to be pack. You're the only person who's ever wanted me to be his Alpha. And you smell good."

And Stiles' heart nearly burst out of his chest with happiness. He turned and looked Derek in the eye, a big, dumb grin on his face. Derek's expression was still stony, but there was a possessive glint in his eye which gave Stiles hope.

"...I think that's the longest sentence you've ever uttered, and it wasn't even in fragments. Well, mostly not in fragments. I'm impressed."

"Shut. Up."

"....Thumpity-Thump Thump."

"I hate you."

"Kiss me."

"I _hate_ you."

"Feeling's mutual, Hale."

And that was how Stiles got his early Christmas present, over the hills of snow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this silly stand-alone piece has suddenly budded a new chapter. I blame the wolfsbane and Christmas cookies. Also, the placement of this story in terms of 'canon' time is rather shifty, like falling snow. All the betas are in place, yes, but Argent and most of the Kanima shenanigans haven't really happened yet. Let's just say it's somewhere mid season 2, in a wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey place.

Shifting, floating snow flakes, the sound of crackling ice, a thin layer over rock, broken by a careless boot or a playfully prodding finger. A whistle of frigid air, sneaking through to skin, causing pores to tighten protectively, bones to rattle, delicate hairs to stand on end. Long nights, half moons, scuttling clouds across a swollen, bruised horizon. Naked, dead trees, skeletons against a silver sky. Winter.

_Winter._

The thing was less than a thing, less than conscious, less than alive. But less than dead, as well. The fire had disorientated it, the sparks had bitten into its chilly flesh, leaving superficial but numerous wounds. The bite to its neck, that had been...more than superficial. That had put a serious crick in its plans. And as it lay there, shifting itself deeper into its element, the thing listened to the unknown and unknowable words between the fire-wielder and the werewolf. It had no grasp of language, not really. It understood perceptions, sensations, but no concretes. It would not have called itself an ice elemental, no more than it would have taken any name. But it could gather all of the feelings of cold, all the immediacy of winter, to what passed for its mind...and it could still heal itself. Like it did when it sank into the earth during late spring and summer, hiding from the tilted axis of the planet, the inimical sun broiling above its head. So the thing listened, heard the chatter of their teeth, the languid, wet throbbing of their pressurized flesh, the meaningless words that passed between the two.

The beast of ice and snow knew what it was to want revenge. Cold, frozen, solid revenge.

*****

"Derek?"

" _What?_ "

"...Can you reach the emergency kit in the back? Where I got the flare? It's got some painkillers in it. Pretty please, handsome wolfy man?"

Derek sighed. Damn it, now that they'd managed to convince each other that they weren't mortal enemies, Stiles seemed to think it would be as easy and comfortable as breathing. Granted, he was still totally lacking anything in the pantal region of his body, but still. They simply weren't going to go from pure and utter annoyance to making out without trousers on. Derek wasn't even sure he wanted to kiss _anybody_ anymore, male or female, at all. Stiles was getting his goat. He was a number one goat-getter. And it was more than just plain annoying. It was starting to make him question his sanity.

"Why didn't you say something earlier?" groused the werewolf, twisting his body carefully to the left, as Stiles smirked at his movements. And what body parts it pressed up against his. Even with a broken ankle, Stiles could appreciate it.

"Um, busy fighting off a crazed ice elemental, remember? Also, pain doesn't help me think straight. It's a little distracting."

Derek didn't answer that with words, just a long-suffering sigh of bruised, sprained patience. Rummaging around in the back of the jeep, his questing fingers finally rolling over an orange prescription bottle of pills. He snatched it up, pulled it forward, and stared at the contents.

"Percocet? _Really?_ Why the hell do you have a bottle of Percocet in your emergency kit?"

"Because I'm friends with werewolves."

The answer was surprisingly brief, and Stiles smirked a little bit. Derek was silent for a long moment, his eyes narrow and suspicious. And then he leaned into Stiles' neck and took a deep, long sniff. The boy gasped, and then moaned softly. For some reason, the act of Derek sniffing his neck had sent him into hyperdrive. Or maybe hyperactive. One of the two.

"Did you steal these?" growled the older boy, and Stiles suddenly yelped in surprise, pulling back slightly, his golden-brown eyes wide with shock.

"What? No! I honestly got a prescription. God, dude, this isn't an after-school special! I got 'em the night after the pool. Thing. I swear to god, my muscles were like concrete after that, have you ever tried to tread water for two hours with one hundred and eighty-five pounds of dead weight around your neck? I was _hurtin'_ the next day, you don't even know. My dad took me to the doctor, I told him it was from lacrosse practice, he wrote me the script and I got them. Okay?"

Derek was still suspicious, but his sour expression slowly relaxed into his baseline blank face. Stiles let out a shaking breath, and plucked the bottle out of his hands. It took a moment of struggle before Derek relinquished his hold, but finally Stiles had his painkillers. He carefully shook one into his palm, and then popped it in his mouth, gulping it down with saliva alone.

"God, I hate swallowing pills dry, these are worse than Adderall."

"You take a lot of pills."

Derek's voice was flat and suspicious again, and was sniffing at Stiles _again._ The boy couldn't answer for a long moment, he was too busy enjoying the sensation. But finally he winced, shaking himself out of the reverie he was in, and pulled back to look Derek in the eye.

"Diagnosed at eight with ADHD, yeah. That's kinda what it's for. I can't help it, it's just how my brain is wired. Why are you suddenly sniffing me like I'm a rare steak with bleu cheese sauce?"

"I'm making sure you're not addicted to painkillers."

There was a long, stunned silence at that. Derek couldn't help but smirk to himself. Ah, so here was how you shut up the motor mouth. Rub his back, sniff his neck, and accuse him of being a junkie. Awesome. Even Stiles had a shock point. Good to know.

"Dude," murmured Stiles. "Seriously?" He sounded betrayed, and even a little hurt. Derek was surprised by that, not expecting it. He'd expected loud denials, and maybe a bit of flailing. But not that quiet, disappointed tone, his eyes full of self-aware pain. Derek blinked, and suddenly realized he'd grabbed Stiles tighter around his middle, to keep him from trying to wriggle away. It was still too cold up here, Stiles needed the body heat they were sharing.

"Stiles..."

"I'm not hooked on Percocet," said the boy flatly, looking away with a pout. "Okay?"

"Everybody has their coping mechanisms," said Derek quietly. "I was just making sure that..."

"Mine wasn't as stupid as I usually am?" finished Stiles for him, his voice hard and brittle, like thin ice. Which Derek suddenly knew he was skating on.

"No." Derek's voice was calm, and conciliatory. Or at least he thought it was. He didn't even know he was in Alpha mode, speaking to Stiles like he spoke to his Betas. "Don't put words in my mouth. I was making sure that you hadn't succumbed to something that very intelligent, very strong people can get hooked on just as easily."

There was a long silence in the shattered jeep. Stiles was staring out the busted windshield, his eyes raking over the shards of glass that still remained in the frame, like the jaws of some beast. My, grandma, what big teeth you have... Derek could hear Stiles' heartbeat again, thumpity-thumping away, faster than usual as the pill started to work its way through his circulatory system. And he couldn't believe he was saying this, but...

"Stiles? Talk to me."

"...Oh, boy. Now there's a sentence I thought I'd never hear, from lips I thought would never utter it. Holy shit, you can't even be serious right now."

"Stiles."

Then Stiles did try to wriggle away, but his broken ankle did more than just hobble him. Not to mention that Derek's arms were resembling the so-called immovable force. And Stiles was far from an unstoppable object, although he came pretty close sometimes. Or at least his mouth did. Derek let him get his struggles out of his system, but didn't let him go. Nor did the boy ask. So it was a pretty intense moment in the jeep, as they silently writhed against each other, lips pressed closed tightly, nostrils flared to whiteness. Derek knew that he had to let the struggle go on, as he demanded that his Betas show spirit, yes. But in the end, he would be obeyed, he would command respect. And if Stiles wanted him to be his Alpha, this was part of it. Finally, Stiles fell still, panting heavily in Derek's arms, his forehead pressed up against Derek's shoulder. He could smell the wet leather of his jacket, where the snow had melted against it, and underneath that, a whiff of his cologne. Or maybe that was just him. He wasn't sure, really. But he took long, steady, calming breaths, as Derek held him still again.

"You're an asshole," muttered Stiles after a long moment, and Derek stiffened, his shoulders taut.

"Real mature, Stiles," said the werewolf, his voice now dark and hurting. "You want to be pack? Then you deal with the consequences. I take care of my own. And part of that is making sure you're not destroying yourself while you cope with all the shit we have to deal with. So knock off the name-calling, and talk to me."

Stiles was rebelliously silent for just a moment longer, and then let out a long, slow breath. His heart was still thumping away, so Derek couldn't tell what was excitement, what was the Percocet, and what was emotional. Stiles was all mixed up inside right now, and it made it difficult to communicate. At least, communicate as wolves did. Derek hadn't pondered the possibility of communicating as humans.

"My dad's a burgeoning alcoholic and my mom had to pop eighty million different pills in the last few months of her life," said the boy finally, still staring out at the snow-covered forest. "Believe me, I am not getting hooked on painkillers."

The shoe dropped, and Derek understood why the accusation had hurt so much. He slowly nodded, and put his fingers under Stiles' chin, forcing the boy to look back at him.

"Actually...that's more reason for me to be worried," he said quietly, his voice thick with some unnamed emotion. "Family history. You can talk to me about all of that, you know."

"Can I?"

Those two simple words cut across Derek like a scythe, and he took in a startled breath through his nose.

"Funny, because the communication here seems to be pretty one-sided all the goddamn time, Hale. You go out and you make yourself a new pack without even _warning_ Scott. Or me. You drag me off on these wild goose chases all the time, you slam my head into my steering wheel, you pop fucking basketballs with your claws to intimidate me. You seem to get off on keeping as many secrets as you can. So don't suddenly play Freud with me, because I have a prescription bottle of painkillers in my car. You don't know me. And that's the problem. There. How's that? Is that good enough of a heart-to-heart? Want some more? Because I've got an alphabetical list of issues we can go over."

Derek was silent, hardly even breathing, as he let all of those verbal slaps roll around in his head. He could hear Laura's voice in that moment, Laura in the back of his head, his heart, castigating him for his mistakes, her hands on her hips, her brown hair shifting in front of her face as she impatiently pushed it back with a flick of her hand. It wasn't Stiles saying these things to him, but his sister, his beloved sister whom he'd barely even had time to mourn. You can't be away from your pack, Derek. You're going to end up an Omega one day if you keep this up. There are no secrets. You can't be off on your own. You're lying to me again, aren't you? You're feeling guilt for what you've done, you went outside the pack...

Then he let out a breath, and let the voice retreat into the blackness in his mind, the cage where he kept those feelings bottled up, where he put away his problems and refused to let them ever see the light of day. They were frozen away in him, and nothing would thaw them. Ever. Not if he could help it.

"...When we get home, I'm throwing the pills away. You can survive with Tylenol," he said, in a final sort of tone. Stiles snorted derisively, and finally turned away again, shivering with more than just the cold.

"Yeah, sure. Before you do, though, put some fucking pants on first, if you want to take my advice, which you never do, so I don't know why I bother."

This was now the dictionary definition of awkward, as they were curled up so tightly for warmth and survival, and Derek was more than half-naked. Their bodies were so tightly wound, they could have powered generators with the pressure. Only it was about as far from a sexy pressure as it could be. Stiles changed his mind, this wasn't his early Christmas present after all, this was his lump of coal in his stocking. Apparently he'd been a bad boy, to be punished like this, to be wrapped up and snuggly with the sexiest man in the history of the damn _universe,_ and they were both too upset to enjoy it. And in his agony, he'd lashed out at Derek with all the things he swore he'd never say, reminding them both of the hurdles in their relationship, reminding Derek what a jerk he could be. So who was really the jerk here?

"Sun's going down," said Derek, breaking the silence, and Stiles shivered. Sure enough, the shadows were shifting, growing longer and swinging to their right, as the sun dipped below the horizon. With it went the last of the anemic warmth, and the temperature really began to plunge. You'd think that killing the elemental would make the snow go away, but then again, maybe it was here because of the snow, not the other way around. All this occurred to Stiles in a split second, masking his annoyance and heartbreak for a bit.

"Great. Can't you like...howl or something? Let the others know where you are?"

"Werewolves aren't cell phones."

That got a snort out of the boy, and he giggled a bit too.

"Yeah, because the data plan is a real, literal bitch."

Derek growled, and Stiles gulped. Memo to self, don't actually use the word 'bitch' in conversation with a werewolf.

"...Okay, bad joke. Never mind." The growl slowly tapered off, and Derek looked away, out the broken window and into the forest beyond. He didn't want to deal with Stiles' shit right now, not anymore. Not when all he got in return was static. But then again, Stiles was practically a walking static generator, he ionized electrons with his general presence and constant jittering.

"Do you have a blanket?"

"What?"

"A blanket. In your jeep. Do you have one?" Derek's voice was barely on this side of being a snappish, peeved tone, and he scowled at Stiles, finally looking back at him.

"No, why?"

"Because it's about to get really damn cold, and you need to be bundled up."

"...You do too."

"I'm fine."

There was another long, awkward silence, where Stiles mentally ransacked the items in his jeep, trying to remember what all was in there. Spare tire, roadside flares, first aid kit. Tire iron and bungee cord, both around his ankle. And...

"My lacrosse hoodie is in the back. And a couple of gym towels. They're dirty, though. I haven't had a chance to do laundry this week."

"That'll do. Can you get 'em?"

"I'll try."

Deciding to forget the fight for now, Stiles twisted just so to reach into his gym bag. There was a whiff of stale body odor as he pulled open the zipper, and Derek's nose wrinkled a bit. Not badly, just a little, like it was only mildly annoying. Stiles of course was immune to his own poison, and didn't even flinch. And, as promised, a grass-stained hoodie appeared, along with two suspiciously stiff white towels. Derek grabbed the towels first, and draped them over Stiles' thighs. Then he pulled the boy up against his body again, sitting facing forward in his lap, wrapping him up backwards in the sweatshirt. But it was Derek's arms that went through the sleeves, trapping Stiles inside, like a very flimsy and red straight jacket. Stiles groaned in annoyance and appreciation as he was held down by the werewolf, already warmer than before.

"Really? This is really how you're doing this?"

In answer, Derek reached up and flipped the hood over Stiles' face, muffling him and shutting him up playfully.

"Lean back," he commanded, "get comfortable. Turn your head to the side, you can breathe that way."

Stiles did as he was told, his ankle throbbing one quick reminder not to put any pressure on it, before settling back down. He had to admit, this was surprisingly cozy. The hood being pulled up had made him feel a lot more secure, like the weather couldn't touch him. Like nothing could touch him, not with Derek's arms there. Maybe it was the Percocet finally kicking in, but he was allowing himself to once again think some very dirty thoughts about his wolfy friend. They were always going to bicker, it was part of their charm.

"And keep wiggling your toes, I don't want you getting frostbite."

Derek's voice snapped Stiles out of his reverie, and he blushed a little bit. "...I can't wiggle the toes on my left foot. Broken ankle, remember?"

Derek huffed impatiently, annoyed at himself for forgetting.

"All right, the second we're out of this, that's the next thing we check for."

"Yeah, I'd prefer to keep all of my digits as well, thanks. I can't believe I'm snuggling up with a half-naked guy in a car crash, and talking about losing toes. This whole scenario is a couple of banjos away from Deliverance."

That actually made Derek snort a little with laughter, and Stiles mentally gave himself a mark in the win column. He had a system. A smile out of Derek was worth a win. A genuine smile was worth two. And a laugh was the rarest win of all. Unfortunately, scowls and physical intimidation were marks in the lose column, and so far his losses were in the lead. Which made no sense, except in the complicated algebra of his relationship with Derek Hale. But...that was a laugh, so it counted as a win.

"You're too young to know that reference," said Derek, trying to hide his smirk.

"Deliverance is timeless," disagreed Stiles, his breath warm against Derek's collarbone. "Everybody knows that reference. It's the only time in pop culture that the banjo has had its moment to shine."

"You are such a spazz."

"Now who's calling names? Seriously, Scrooge, I can't keep up with your moon logic sometimes. Oh, shit! You do have moon logic, that's what werewolves are, they live by the moon. By the way, I want to get more info on that, why you're tied to the phases of the moon, it's ridiculous really, how does that even work from an evolutionary standpoint? Born wolves and the moon, where did it all start, how...?"

Derek cut him off, his eyebrows raised high. "Really? Now's the time you think of this?"

"No. I always think of this stuff. I just say it out loud right now because I'm a little loopy on Percocet. It's a good excuse. What kind of cologne do you wear?"

That question caught Derek flat, and he began to suspect that Stiles hadn't taken his Adderall today, either. So now he had a loopy boy on painkillers, without his other meds in his system. Amazing. Merry Christmas indeed. Why was he agreeing to try to get this boy in his pack again?

"I don't," he answered, keeping his tone as even as he could. "I wear aftershave sometimes. Dominican Bay Rum."

"You _shave?!_ " blurted Stiles, his voice jumping an octave. "Holy shit. What happens if you skip? Does your full, manly wolf beard take over Manhattan or what?"

Derek rolled his eyes but declined to answer, even as Stiles tried to sit up again, getting a face full of hoodie for his problems. He jerked his face forward and shook like a dog to dislodge it, before craning his neck around to stare at Derek's jawline.

"Because seriously, that is not five o'clock shadow, that's, like, full midnight gloom. It's a shame you can't sell your hair like women do, you could probably supply fake beards to every man in Beacon Hills by next month. Aftershave? Really? Rum-based aftershave? You really are a parrot and eye patch away from being a pirate, you know that, right?"

"Shut up." He reached up and flipped the hood back up, and forced Stiles to lay back down against his chest. He had to admit, he was beginning to enjoy this position they were in, and he most certainly shouldn't be. As Stiles breathed through the side of the hood, though, his breath was beginning to fog a little more thickly in the air. The temperature was really starting its downward slide, now, and the boy shivered a bit.

"But...all this werewolf and moon stuff. You'll tell me how it all works, right? Really works, not just crap I find on the internet."

That was Stiles' way of begging Derek for more information...and forgiveness for their little spat earlier. His way of saying, look, our past was a little closed off, _you_ were a little closed off, but I want to give you a chance to change it. And I'll do the same. Derek sighed, pondering what he could, and should, do. Because the last time he gave anybody any sort of information about his life, his self, his family, his body...Kate Argent had torched his living heart out and destroyed his life and his family.

"Maybe," the werewolf equivocated. "We gotta get out of here intact first."

"Derek..."

Stiles' voice was low and pleading, and he turned his head up and to the right. All Derek could see was one small sliver of Stiles' face, one golden-brown eye peering out from behind the crimson fabric. It was difficult for Stiles to see now, as the last rays of the day leeched out of the forest, the indigo blanket of night settling down over them. But Derek, he could see in the dark. And his heart skipped a beat as their eyes met. He hadn't forgotten his confession about how he felt about guys. And apparently, neither had Stiles. After a long moment of meaningful eye contact, Stiles took the initiative. Cautiously, deliberately, Stiles squirmed _just so_ against Derek's lap. It wasn't as sexy as Stiles had hoped, since his jeans were more than a little abrasive, but it was still something. Derek bit off a gasp, and then closed his eyes tightly.

"Not tonight."

And that was in answer to both the information, and that artful, artless squirming. Derek's voice was flint, it was steel, it was granite and diamond and ice, hard and cold and indifferent. Because he had to be, he had to lock away those feelings and deep freeze them, for both their sakes. He could hear Stiles' heart beating, hot and frantic, like its warmth could melt everything away. And that was what made him dangerous, what made them both so dangerous together. And why he'd been drawn to the boy in spite of himself, in spite of circumstances. That was why they ended up alone together so often, that was why they ended up like _this._ Clinging to each other for warmth, in a cold world. 

Stiles relented after a moment, tilting his head back down against Derek's chest, still lolled to the side so he could get fresh, cold air through the hood. He felt light-headed and carefree and disconnected, but worried too. Because now the real danger was setting in. Was it him, or was it a hell of a lot colder tonight than it had ever been in Beacon Hills? The ice elemental was dead, it shouldn't be getting this cold...

"Derek. We're in trouble."

"I know."

Derek's arms tightened around Stiles' body for just a moment, and both boys fell silent. They really were in trouble now. Derek had no pants on, no shoes, no shirt. Just a leather jacket draped around his shoulders, his arms through a sweatshirt, his legs barely covered by Stiles and two towels. Not even a werewolf could survive if the temps dropped too much further. They should have made a break for it immediately, while the sun was still up, but he'd thought for certain his pack would come looking. He didn't want to risk Stiles hurting his ankle worse, not to mention that being a naked man on the side of the road would certainly complicate his relationships all around. Damn it.

"I'm sorry," whispered Stiles, shivering again. Not even Derek's warmth was enough now, and he was snuggling in closer to leech off what heat he could. "I should have made you go."

"Nothing could have made me go."

And that was the most shocking answer of the evening. That light-headed feeling returned in full force, and in spite of how much danger they were in, Stiles couldn't help but smile a bit. He had gone his whole short life without anybody saying that sort of thing to him. Hence why he nosed in on things that weren't his business, just so he could have a feeling of _belonging._ Derek Hale wouldn't have abandoned him, and that was the best feeling in the world.

"Yeah? His voice was younger than usual, innocent and oddly happy. "So...what are we, now?"

"...I don't know," was the terse answer, Derek's jaw clenched against the invading cold. "We're not anything yet. Pack, maybe. Sort of."

"Sort of? How can you be sort of pack?"

"When I say you're sort of pack!" he snapped back, rolling his eyes again. "God, not even hypothermia shuts you up, does it?"

"Nope."

Derek huffed a very dramatic sigh, his breath turning to fog before dissipating into the night. But, if they were going to die, at least they'd die like this, wrapped up in each other, confessing it all finally. Even Derek could feel it, that sense of need, that sense of desperation to connect with somebody in this wintry mess. There was still the nebulous hope that Scott or Isaac or Boyd or Erica could find them, of course. But they were now both coming to grips with the fact that they might not make it.

"...Still say not tonight?" asked the boy quietly, squirming again just in case the werewolf changed his mind.

"Not. Tonight."

"...You're really no fun at all, you know that? I'm going to die a virgin and you don't even care."

That got another growl out of the Alpha, and his chest inflated with a deep, steadying breath. There was another protracted silence, and then Derek let the breath out.

"I am not taking your virginity in your crappy, broken jeep while we're freezing half to death," he said steadily, trying to sound like he was still in control. Mentally, Stiles was _flailing._ Because there was so much to flail about in that sentence. So what he finally settled on was...

"My jeep isn't crappy!"

*****

_Winter._ Numbing cold and crackling bones, deep in the earth, the bowels of the planet, tendrils of ice sneaking through root systems, killing juniper and skunkweed, sucking up all available moisture into its frozen form. The elemental seethed with revenge, with need, with a burn only available to absolute zero. It could feel life around it, earthworms and ants and rabbits and skunks, suddenly lifeless and brittle in its onslaught, sucking and sucking and drying and sucking some more. Mummified, frozen, dessicated. Winter was invading this soft land, this temperate zone, and the elemental whispered and whistled its need through the dying soil. It would live through a broken body, it would take the heat of the werewolf, the heat of the fire-wielder, and it would _kill them both..._

The sun went down, and its power grew. And grew. Let them talk. Let them try to blend their fire. In the end, all would be ice and dust.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Crack.


End file.
